


On The Path

by Thistlerose



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Brothers, Gen, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 18:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his third - and last - return from Narnia, Edmund feels like he's been cast adrift.  Written in 2005.  Set after "The Voyage of the <i>Dawn Treader</i>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Path

Burnished afternoon sunlight slants through the branches, illuminating clusters of orange mushrooms; a moth that looks like a mote of dandelion fluff; a rusted kettle that some hunter or camper forgot years ago, inside of which small white flowers grow.

It does not, of course, illuminate any of the forest's hazards: the deep grooves between the trees' roots, over which Edmund trips; the pile of fresh, steaming deer turds, into which he steps; the spider webs hanging daintily from branches, into which he walks.

Peter, some paces ahead, pauses and calls back over his shoulder, "Having some trouble?"

"No," mutters Edmund, attempting to peel the sticky threads from his lips and chin.

"Trying to take the forest home with you?"

"Just my favorite parts."

Peter grins. Sunlight splashes his broad shoulders and dark hair. Edmund finds himself squinting and thinking that in that light, with that look of loving indulgence on his face, Peter looks more like a High King than the teenaged schoolboy he is.

 _How do you bear it?_ The words trip in Edmund's mouth, but he holds them back. _How do you bear it,_ he thinks, _being what we are, knowing what we once were, knowing that we can never go back?_

Peter grabs Edmund's arm and hauls him across the narrow, muddy stream into which he would probably have fallen. "I say, Ed, you're looking dismal."

Edmund flicks his hand, trying to scatter the midges that swarm around his sweaty brow. "Just a spot of bad luck."

"Several, from the looks of it."

Edmund scowls. "We're probably lost."

"We're _on_ a trail." Nevertheless, Peter takes a compass out of his trouser pocket, and shows it to Edmund. "See? We're going in the right direction."

"I _feel_ lost."

Peter looks at him keenly, and Edmund realizes that his petulant tone has added meaning to his words. He glances at the leaf-strewn earth, but continues to feel Peter's dark gaze on him, searching him.

"You were in Narnia, weren't you?" Peter's voice is calm, gently inquisitive. The voice of the High King.

"Yes," mumbles Edmund.

"You and Lucy."

"And Eustace."

"How did he fare?"

"At first? As badly as you'd expect. After a bit…he turned out to be quite a trump."

"But you're not happy."

As Edmund watches, a fiery red salamander scrambles across the path. It disappears without a sound into the pulp of a rotting log. A bead of sweat slides down Edmund's cheek, tickling as it goes.

"He said I – we, rather, me and Lucy – can't go back anymore. Eustace can, but not us."

"That was months ago," Peter says. "And you've taken all this time to tell me?"

"I felt odd about it," Edmund confesses. "Angry. At Him – Aslan, I mean. And I hate being angry at Aslan. It's wrong. I can _feel_ how wrong it is, but that doesn't stop me from feeling it. At Lucy, because she seems all right. At myself, for being angry. And for not saying a word to you or Susan. Not," he can't help grumbling, "that Susan cares about anything except what's playing at the cinema and whether or not her hair looks all right."

"Don't mock Susan," Peter chides. "We all deal with it in our own way. Lucy's not all right. Lucy dreams about Narnia. She hasn't told me, but I know. When she oversleeps and Mother sends me to wake her up – the look on her face just before she wakes…it's the same look she used to have after dancing in a Dryad grove."

Edmund is shaking. Around him, the leaves are shivering. "I don't dream about it," he mutters. "I _never_ dream about it. It's not fair. Couldn't I at _least_ be allowed to see it in my dreams?"

The path seems to buckle, and he pitches forward. For an instant he thinks that he is going to fall. But the Peter is grasping his shoulders, and hauling him up, and pulling him close.

There are no words as they embrace, and there is no need for any. _I understand,_ says Peter's silence. _I miss it too. You're not alone, Ed._

 _Help me,_ Edmund's grip pleads. _Help me, my brother, my king. Help me do what is asked of me._

Slowly, Peter pulls back. He does not, however, release Edmund. He turns and, his arm still around his brother's shoulders, continues along the trail, giving Edmund no choice but to hurry along at his side. Gradually, their strides lengthen and their heads lift, and they are walking like a pair of kings, not exiled from the land they love but off to discover a new world.

10/03/05


End file.
